


Heroes of War

by yourbeautysfading



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe, Canonical Character Death, Cheating, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Threesomes, Torture, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2014-08-24
Packaged: 2018-02-14 11:59:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2190984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourbeautysfading/pseuds/yourbeautysfading
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A war rages in the Middle East, causing a draft to be in effect in the United States. After Dean Winchester dies in said war, Sam joins the military, vowing to kill any enemy he comes across. Castiel is in the Peace Corps and hasn't had contact with the outside world in a few years when Sam's company has to take the Peace Corps volunteers back to their camp to remove them from a danger zone. It's on their journey that the convoys are blown up and Sam, Castiel, and a couple of other soldiers or volunteers are taken captive by the enemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heroes of War

**Author's Note:**

> A few places might seem a little rushed, like some of the war parts, but... I did the best I could. As for the smut scene, I was already starting on it before I realized that I needed to do it the way it is in here. Sorry. |D

Until ten years ago, there hadn’t been a mandatory draft into the military since Vietnam. Draft dodgers were a huge problem, just as they had been then. Families dreaded their sons turning eighteen, dreaded having to watch them leave, knowing they were going to a losing battle and would probably never make it home. For Sam Winchester, the draft meant nothing. He was twelve and not interested in politics or the military; surely the war would be over by the time any of his family had to deal with it. It couldn’t go on forever.

But two years came and passed, and the war was still happening. By this time, there had been an amendment to the policy. For pacifists or other draft dodgers that didn’t want to go into the military, they could join the Peace Corps to serve their military duty and be shipped to another country to help people. There were still dodgers, of course, but the number had lessened since this amendment. Sam was fourteen then. Dean and his best friend Castiel Novak were eighteen. Dean chose the military; he said he’d never seen himself going down any other path, anyway, and if he got to blast the heads off some terrorists or insurgents… well, that was part of the fun, right? Castiel chose the Peace Corps. Sam remembered seeing them both off on the same day. Dean gave him the keys to Baby, reminding Sam to take good care of her and not to have a dog in her. Sam wasn’t old enough to drive yet, but he promised he wouldn’t let anything happen to the car. Castiel gave him a black cord necklace with a pendant of Saint Benedict to protect him from evil. Dean received a pendant of Saint Michael. Each promised the other to keep in touch, to write often and to call when they could, and then Dean was off to basic training and Castiel was sent to prepare for the Peace Corps.

Time marched on. Sam started driving, even dating a college freshman when he was sixteen, a new junior in high school. Jessica was beautiful, intelligent, funny… she was everything he could have asked for. He sent her picture to Dean in an email and was proud of himself when his brother approved. He’d been able to talk to Dean fairly consistently through emails, although sometimes he took a while to respond. Castiel had stuck to old fashioned letter writing, but Sam heard from him less and less often. One day Dean told him that he wouldn’t be able to respond for a while, but he would when he could and to not be an idiot and lose Jess during the time he was offline. He said he’d be coming home from tour soon, and he expected her to still be around so he could meet her. Sam promised she would be and told his brother to be careful.

Dean never made it home.

Sam and their father John received a box of Dean’s belongings, delivered by men in dress blues. Condolences were offered, and when Dean’s remains were flown home, they had a proper burial for him. Sam had just turned seventeen. He took the necklace Castiel had given his brother and wore it with his own. He and Castiel had lost touch by then; he didn’t know if his brother’s best friend knew he was dead, if he was even alive himself.

A year later, Sam faced the decision between the military and the Peace Corps. Since this policy had been introduced, he had claimed he would join the Peace Corps because he wanted to help, not harm, others. After Dean died, though, that changed. Even though he wouldn’t be able to find the person responsible for his brother’s death, he wanted to make the enemy pay. He chose the military. The young man trained hard, biting his tongue when he wanted to talk back to the platoon sergeant or anyone who talked to him as if he were nothing. Dean had taught him to shoot, to assemble and disassemble a gun, and Sam put those skills to use. At first he remained distant from the others, but after a while, he began making friends with some of the soldiers in his company.

His first kill was a man another soldier had wounded that Sam found when raiding a building, a man who he had stepped on his chest and smiled at him as he'd sent a bullet through the enemy soldier's head. He'd watched the blood and bits of brain and skull explode from the bullet wound and speckle his boots, watched the blood pour out of the wound and stain the floor. He'd felt powerful then. He imagined that this, this was the man who had killed his brother. Three more shots were fired until the corpse's face was practically gone.Just a few years before, Sam would have been completely against this, against all of this. But after Dean was killed, that had changed. He'd felt a hard determination to kill any son of a bitch that might have played any part of Dean's death, and that meant killing any enemies possible. Sam wondered if Dean had felt the same sense of power he felt after his first kill. He killed many men after that, each time feeling more powerful, more invincible. 

During one raid, their mission was to capture a man believed to be hiding in a small group of buildings. He and other soldiers kicked in the doors of the houses, shooting down men, women, and children that were in their way. Sam killed a mother and her infant baby in one house,a child no more than five years old in another. It was in that house that he and a couple of other soldiers found the man. They were supposed to kill him. Instead, they restrained him, tied a bag over his head, and marched him out of the house to the waiting convoys. Then they drove two hours before dragging him out of the convoy. They ripped off his clothes and began beating him with the butts of their guns. Sam stayed back for a couple of minutes, observing, until Ash looked over his shoulder and smirked. "Aren't you gonna join in, Winchester?" he asked, motioning with his gun to the man on the ground. Sam considered, then shrugged and stepped closer. Ash whooped, laughing afterward. "All right, y'all, make room for Winchester to join in." When he stepped closer, the man, naked and bloodied made eye contact with him. 

"Please," he rasped. Instead of answering, Sam slammed the butt of his gun into the man's chest. Then the beating really was underway, the other soldiers sneering obscenities and laughing as the man cried out in pain. It was the first time Sam had even engaged in the torture he'd observed, and when the butt of his gun slammed down on the man's throat and then his neck and he heard a sickening crack... the power he felt was ten times moreso than what he normally felt by shooting a single bullet. He didn't stand back and observe anymore when the others tortured the enemy. 

He had endured smoke bombs, had seen fellow soldiers blown up when they stepped on a land mine. He had been on the front lines of combat,had been shot by the enemy but continued to fight.on his first tour, watched many of his comrades die on the battlefield as well. He went on raids, captured and tortured enemies and innocent civilians.But he made it through and was able to return home for a while. He never spoke about the war, about what he'd seen or done. Those nightmares were for him. And when the sound of an engine backfiring had him diving for cover or the sky was lit up with fireworks that reminded him more of land mines exploding and made him expect to see chunks of flesh and bone mixed with the metal and shrapnel propelling through the air... those were his problems, not anyone else's. When he tried to fall asleep at night and heard the whispering of the men who had died in his company, heard the screams of pain echoing so loudly he swore they were coming from somewhere in the house and not in his own mind... it was something only he could understand. When he drove and found himself wondering why the vehicle was so small, when he found himself suffocating from claustrophobia when he attended movies or went to eat at a restaurant because he was used to the open land and had to leave before the movie or dinner was over, nobody else would think about that. He was spit on by those who recognized him as a veteran, but the looks of pity were worse to him. 

Alcohol quickly became his best friend; at least it drowned the memories, muted the voices and lulled him into the only dreamless sleep he'd had in months. And when he was watching the body of that first kill crawl across his bedroom floor in the moonlight coming from the window, blood and brains and bone trailing down what was left of his face and dropping onto the floor, he was able to say _Have another drink_ and pour another shot rather than grab the loaded handgun he kept under his pillow to shoot at the soldier. He could down five more double shots and pour a sixth before feeling that maybe that bullet wasn't meant for his own brain, that he wouldn't be able to rest until he felt the barrel of his gun pressed against his own temple or slipped into his mouth. In the evening when he was watering the plants outside his house, he could plan just what concoction of mixed drinks he'd have that night to keep himself from wrapping that garden hose around his neck after tying it to a rafter in the rundown shed in the back yard. He could amuse himself by wondering how long it would take someone to find his body in that shed and then stifle those thoughts by deciding to go to the bar, to try to be around _people_ when he'd rather never see another living being again.

By the time his tour was over, Jess had left him. She’d sent him a letter telling him there was someone else, but she still wanted to be friends. Sam attended her wedding, though he offered no congratulations and noticed the way her eyes never left him while she was at the altar, while she was supposed to be focused on her groom. She hadn’t been able to go through with the wedding, unable to agree when the vows were read for her. After the disaster of a wedding, she called Sam, and they decided to start over. And by the time he was sent off on another tour, the two were engaged. She swore she’d wait for him, no matter how long it took.

Sam was twenty-two now, on his second tour of active duty. The war was starting to simmer; there was talk of it ending soon. However, a new threat had occurred that the President had decided needed America’s help. There was a war brewing between Armenia and Azerbaijan. Some of Sam’s company was chosen to bring the Peace Corps volunteers in the area safely out of the war zone so they could be sent home. When they arrived, they were greeted by the volunteers and citizens. One man stayed further back than the others, speaking with some of the citizens of Armenia. Sam watched him closely, and when he laughed, Sam’s eyes widened. Although it had been years since he’d last heard it, he recognized that laugh. Pushing through the crowd, he stopped in front of the other. “Castiel Novak?”

The man looked up, piercing blue eyes meeting Sam’s gaze. “Yes?” He didn’t say another word. In an instant, Castiel was pulled to his chest, a soft sound of surprise coming from the other man. “Uh… Okay then.” When he was released, he frowned at Sam, brow furrowing. “Do I…?”

Sam pulled the necklaces out, showing the other the pendants. “It’s me, Sam. Sam Winchester.” This time it was Castiel doing the embracing, and Sam laughed. “I can’t believe you’re alive. When you stopped writing, I assumed the worst.”

“I’m sorry; the area I was stationed in before had to be abandoned, and when I was moved here I lost contact with everyone. I haven’t even spoken to my family in years. Do you know how they are?”

“They haven’t given up hope that you’re still out here somewhere. When we get back to where you can contact them, I’ll help you with that. Okay?” They had a three day journey ahead of them before they were back at base. Soon enough, the volunteers had been loaded, and the company left. Castiel didn’t want to leave all of those people in a danger area, but there was nothing that could be done.

He and Sam were in the same convoy. The soldiers had to share a tent with a volunteer, and the two of them had already paired up for that, as well. During the ride, Castiel updated Sam on what had been going on the past three years, how he had volunteered to work with the youth in the towns he’d been stationed in, how he had made a difference in their lives. Sam told him about Jess, about school, about how he planned to go to university to become a lawyer when his tour of duty was over. He told him that the bullets shot from the enemy’s guns were no match to the bullets sprayed from Americans’ mouths when he returned home after his first tour, how he hadn’t been sure he would survive the wounds created by the sounds and the actions of everyday life again but Jess… Jess made him sane enough to handle it. She knew how to get to him when the depths of hell were wrapping black hands around his throat, choking him, choking… and she could make them let go.

And then their reunion turned awkward. “You never seemed to be the soldier type, Sam,” Castiel said. “Even in your letters, you said you were planning on joining the Peace Corps if the war was still going on.”

“Sometimes, best laid plans are changed. You know that. Weren’t you engaged to that April Kelly girl?”

“Honestly? That was just a façade,” Castiel laughed. “There was someone else that I was actually engaged to.”

Sam perked up at this news. “Oh? Who was it?”

But Castiel wasn’t going to humor him. “How is Dean doing? The military was always his thing; I hope he didn’t talk you into joining. Do you know where he’s stationed now?”

A darkness came over Sam's face, something that Castiel had never believed he would see on the other man when he was younger. But underneath that darkness, there was pain. There was so much pain; Sam was drowning in it, and no one seemed to even notice.

"Dean's dead. That's why I have his necklace now." _Dean's dead... Dean's dead_. 

The following hours until they reached their camp for the night was spent in silence. 

They helped set up camp, traded stories with the other soldiers and other volunteers as they ate dinner and pretended that the truth hadn't been spoken. They laughed, they joked, they shared pictures of loved ones at home and told stories about their little brothers or sisters, their wives or kids. They all felt the same burden weighing on their chests that no one dared say aloud. They were all missing so much time being here instead of there, where they belonged. Things would never be the same. What if too much changed, though? What if they couldn't go back to their families and things be okay?

Finally, the soldiers and the volunteers began trickling to their tents for the night. Sam and Cas went to their tent, each stripping down to only a pair of pants before lying down on their makeshift beds. In the darkness, Sam was sure he could hear the enemy outside, making their way closer and closer. His eyes squeezed shut, and he tried to think of something, of anything, just to take his mind off that sound. He thought about Jess, tried to picture her in bed, her hair falling over her shoulders and the look she'd be giving him as she teased him about how he needed to come to bed, as well. She would--

"You look a lot like him."

Sam opened his eyes again and looked over at Castiel. "What?"

"Dean. The last time I saw a picture of you, you had longer hair. But with your hair short like this, you look sort of like him. Just taller." Cas had an arm under his head, and even though it was dark, Sam could feel the other staring at him.

"You think so?"

"I know so." He sighed a little, finally looking away. "I've missed him... so much." It was quiet again for a moment. Sam stared at the top of their tent, listening to the enemy sneaking around outside in their camp. He thought he saw the opening to their tent rustle, thought he saw the first man he'd killed crawl through the door. Fuck. His face was covered by his hands, and he took a few deep, slow breaths. He heard something moving in the tent and froze. And then... And then he felt something beside him. He felt another body pressed to his side, felt the heat radiating off that body, felt a hand on his torso. Sam's eyes flew open. Cas was lying beside him, his breaths shaking.

"What are you doing, Cas?"

"It was him, you know," the other murmured, looking up. Even though it was dark, Sam swore he could see Castiel's eyes glittering. "Our parents would never have approved, so to everyone, we were best friends. When we were both back from this shit, we were going to run away together and elope. He wanted you to come with us, be our witness, his best man. He said he knew that, even if everyone else turned their backs on us, he could count on you. The last time I spoke to him, he told me that he wouldn't be able to write for a while, and then I was moved and lost contact with everyone. I thought... I thought he was at home, waiting on me."

Sam listened as Castiel spoke, able to hear the cracks and breaks in the other man's voice, hear the unsteadiness in his breaths. He could also hear the whispers outside their tent, could hear the enemy or the dead talking among themselves. Someone was scratching on the tent... "Cas."

"You remind me so much of him..." There was a pause, a silence broken only by their breaths for Castiel, an auditorium of sound buzzing for Sam. Castiel shifted then, leaning over Sam and pressing their lips together. Sam's first instinct was to recoil, to push Castiel away... but the sounds outside the tent disappeared when their lips touched. So instead of following his instinct, Sam's eyes closed, and he draped an arm around Castiel's shoulders as he kissed the man back. The world around them was silent. Sam hadn't heard that silence in so long, not even when he was with Jess.

The kiss broke when Castiel pulled back suddenly, covering his face as a quiet sob escaped his lips. " _Dean_ ," he whispered. As soon as the kiss had ended, the sounds came alive full force once more for Sam. He found himself craving that silence. He would do anything to get it back. He needed it back; it was the first time in a long time he had felt sane.

Pushing himself up on one elbow, he leaned over and uncovered his brother's best friend's face. No, more than best friend. His lover. "Kiss me again."

"What?" The other wiped his cheeks with the heel of one hand and looked up through the darkness at the other Winchester he'd known since he was a child.

"Pretend I'm Dean for one night. Or... or don't. Do it knowing it's me, whatever would make you feel better about it. Just kiss me again."

"But what about J--?"

Sam didn't let Castiel finish the thought before he leaned down, pressing their lips firmly together once more. Silence again. Beautiful silence. Cas kissed him back, and Sam deepened it, nipping the older male's lower lip before soothing it with his tongue. Castiel sighed into the kiss, the tips of his fingers pressing firmly into Sam's shoulder blades. 

Their lips parted only long enough for each of them to take a breath before Sam dove back in, hungry for the silence. He licked Cas' lip again, pressing at it lightly, seeking entrance. Castiel parted his lips slightly, and Sam's tongue pushed into his mouth as the man beneath him arched a bit off of the cot. Moving so he was straddling the older man, Sam settled on his hips, only to begin grinding downward. His tongue explored Castiel's mouth, thrusting in and out of it forcefully, and the other inhaled sharply or moaned against his lips. 

When he finally broke the kisses for more than one inhalation, he was breathless. "Cas," he murmured, nosing the man's jawline before nipping along it. His hands trailed over Castiel's torso. His hips continued to grind into the other's, and before long, Castiel was lifting his hips and grinding in return. The silence brought about by the man's lips was now disrupted by soft gasps and moans, shaky inhalations and exhalations. He felt nothing toward the other except a primal need to keep the screams and voices at bay. 

Kissing, nipping, biting, and sucking first along Castiel's jawline and then down his neck as the man beneath him groaned and arched, Sam allowed himself to give in to the almost animalistic urges he felt. His nails raked down Cas' chest, earning an audible gasp that turned into a low moan. The man arched beneath him again, and nails, in turn, bit into Sam's shoulders. He trailed further down the other's body, swirling his tongue around one nipple while his fingers tweaked the other one. Castiel squirmed beneath him as he nipped his sternum and then moved down more, biting at his abdomen and along the thin strip of hair that dipped into his waistband. The bulge in his pants allowed Sam to see that the other was just as aroused as he was, though he'd felt it only moments before when he'd been on top of the other man.

"Sam," Castiel started hesitantly, shifting a bit to sit up. "I can't do this. Not to Dean. I--"

"Dean's dead, Cas. It doesn't matter about him anymore." He hated the cold tone that crept into his words, hated the way he braced himself from any emotion when he or anyone else mentioned his brother. But he was turned on and desperate for contact.

"I can't."

"Then why the _fuck_ did you come over here and lie down with me? Why did you kiss me?" he asked, seething. Castiel was seriously doing this? And the noises outside were back, louder than before, more demanding to have attention paid to them.

"I... I don't know. I'm sorry, Sam." Without another word, Castiel moved back over to his cot and stretched out, his back to the other man.

Sam groaned, running a hand over his face before sighing. Fuck him. The man closed his eyes tightly, focusing on his own breathing and trying to tune out everything his mind was conjuring outside. He wished he had some alcohol. He wished Jess was there. Instead, he had to lie on a cot, his own hand pleasuring him while he bit down on his other hand to stifle soft gasps or moans. He had to picture Jessica Moore in her favorite dress that made her legs go on for miles and had to force the fact that someone else was in the tent out of his mind.

From across the tent, he thought he heard similar sounds to the ones he was muffling. But that was probably his imagination. Before too long, he came, then cleaned up his mess as best he could before relaxing. A soft buzz filled the air, drowning out the noises outside until they were one dull, monotonous hum. He fell asleep listening to quiet sobs and pretending not to notice them.

When morning came, Sam and Castiel avoided mentioning the previous night. They avoided each other's gazes as often as they could and didn't cut up as much as they had the previous day. The tension between the two of them was felt by everyone, but when one of the soldiers made a smartass comment about it, Sam just laughed it off. After that, he made more of an effort to seem as though everything was okay. Castiel remained quiet as they loaded up the covered convoys and started making their way back to the base. He chose to talk to the other volunteers in his convoy rather than the soldiers or Sam, but even then, he didn't have much to say.

Five hours into the trip, there was an explosion as a convoy hit a land mine ahead of them, and then a second hit another landmine. The explosions caused their convoy to shake and Castiel to cry out. Their convoy stopped rapidly. Then one of the soldiers was yelling at the others. "Move! Move! Move!"

Before anyone _could_ move, Sam saw a young man appear from behind a sand dune. He cursed and shouted that they needed to _get out of there_. Other soldiers began firing, but the man threw something even as the bullets sprayed the sand around him and bit into his chest. Sam was torn between watching his body fall to the ground and watching what he'd thrown fly through the air, getting closer and closer as they didn't fucking move like he'd said they needed to do. _A grenade._ The realization registered just as the grenade hit the ground near the convoy. The vehicle was rocked off its wheels, ripped nearly in half, and the world went black.


End file.
